By Nasirudeen Jabbaru, Accra, Ghana.
My fears became tears.
My tears vanished among peers.
I had plenty and little of no awareness.
Keenly fused to God, As I sun the Earth.
Of all worth!
In the greyhound of hardships;
The trotros of Westernized Africans,
My name is mocked.
My name is cropped.
Our name is shamed.
Our name is blamed.
But in this battle Worriers are born
Like movies and aligned roles for warriors.
Regardless of the tentacular hurts.
The African voice is maimed
They say, “Mute ’em or better lashes for speaking vernacular.”
THEM rose to fish you out in particular.
We will not die
We must not lie
We will not buy these White lies.
Even if we’re told and re-sold
The million connived buzzing tales.
In the jungle survival is for the fittest.
Only the strong will overpower toiling.
Telling and retelling our mythical stories.
Back to Savannahs, nature is just natural.
We will thrive from the bedrock and your scheming padlocks.
© Nasirudeen Jabbaru